


As Right As Rain

by killallyourfriends (orphan_account)



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:35:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/killallyourfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rain was the worst. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Right As Rain

The rain was the worst.

 

The rain often started as a tranquil _tap tap tap_ on the roof Katniss’ lush Capitol loft. Like a siren’s call, the melody drew Katniss to the water.

 

Knees drawn up in oversized sweaters, Katniss would sit on her window seat, watching the fine liquid haze of smog-infused rain coat everything in sight. She could smell the earth that clung to her boots; the curtains against her cheek were the large, glossy leaves of District 12, not this industrial wasteland.

 

Katniss would remain in this peaceful and nostalgic state of dreaming until the lightning started.

 

The light show happened so quickly, just like everything else had in the last few years.

 

Flash! the glint of silver in the Gamemaker’s light.

 

Flash! a reflection off of a Mockingjay brooch.

 

Flash! a sunset grin in a valley of hurt.

 

Flash! a million little cameras.

 

Flash! the shrill light of a grenade.

 

The blinds would come shut with an audible, yellow crash, and the heavy velvet curtains would be thrown together like stones.

 

_Hadn’t she learned by now? Hadn’t she learned that everything she ever loved would only come back to hurt her? Distance. Distance was key._

 

She would crumple into a ghost of herself on the soiled sheets, driftwood fingers clamped tight over featherdust hair and blistering ears. Make it stop. Make it stop.

 

\---

She wouldn’t come out for days after it had rained. Nobody really noticed because nobody really cared, and why should they care about Katniss Everdeen? She was old, played out, overrated, and from Peeta Mellark’s account, a real nasty bitch. Let her suffer, let her starve a little, let her go insane like Annie Cresta. The world really needed a martyr right now, and Katniss’ name was at the top of the list.

 

\---

One really gnarly storm had come to pass, and Haymitch had woken up covered in leaf debris and his own vomit, passed out right outside of Katniss’ apartment building. He supposed that Katniss’ place was where he had been headed, to check on the poor, mad girl. Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do than drink, and it would be quite entertaining to see how long he could last without raiding anyone’s wine cellar.

 

Haymitch let himself in using the spare key that was tucked underneath the dying orchids guarding Katniss’ door.

 

“Helloooo,” Haymitch sang, pulling out packs of venison jerky and tossing them around Katniss’ house as he went. “Daddy’s home.”

 

He nailed a floral urn with a pack of jerky, and he watched, impressed, as it shattered against the wall into a hundred really pretty iridescent pieces. Haymitch had pretty good aim for a drunk. Practice.

 

“Oh, hello?”

 

Haymitch frowned as he cut across the living room and made his way down the hall to Katniss’ bedroom door. It smelled really ripe in Katniss’ apartment, which was nothing new, but it really did smell _really ripe_. What had the girl been up to this time?

  

He walked into her room and saw a sight that was unpleasant, but not unusual. Katniss was lying facedown in a tangle of grubby sheets and blankets, and clothes, jewelry, books, and papers were strewn everywhere. Definitely not unusual, but it was a bit cleaner over at Effie’s house. Effie’s place was really neat and tidy and organized, but there was so much fucking _stuff_ that it looked a bit cluttered in there, and wasn’t much better than Katniss’ apartment.

 

“Katniss,” Haymitch said a little firmly, the old, lost mentor in him commanding Katniss to rise and shine, sweetheart. He stepped over a pair of ratty sequined heels and prodded Katniss in the side. Her flesh was jelly and curled around his finger. She was never known for being particularly voluptuous.

 

“Katniss, wake up, sweetheart. I brought you some deer jerky.”

 

When she didn’t stir, he flipped her over frantically and began to shake her, her head lolling like a sack of wet bricks; her body was lead in his hands.

 

_Katniss? Katniss? Katniss, honey, wake up. Katniss? Katniss. Sweetheart, you need—_

 

He felt something sticky. He ran across the room, opened the curtains, and unlatched the window.


End file.
